My Father believed that there are always two sides to a person, the external image that one puts out into the world and the internal truth that one has within. The external image is often simplified and controlled, whereas the internal image is often darker and unpredictable. The two seemingly appear to be polar opposites, but simultaneously share overlap that cause them to be divided and yet...inseparable.
How appropriate, then, that I was born a twin. For approximately eight months, thirteen days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes, and thirteen seconds anyway. My younger brother, Romulus Lupin, entered the world stillborn. Cause of death? A noose in the form of our shared umbilical cord. Somewhat ironic, considering in Roman legend it is my namesake who dies first, and by his own brother no less. I am positive my Mother only picked it because she liked the alliterative connections and my Father, being a Wizard, didn't question it. I often wondered as a child what it would have been like to have a brother.
While I was sorted into Gryffindor, people have often parroted The Sorting Hat and told me that I'm a closeted Ravenclaw with dashes of Hufflepuff, and I tend to agree. I truly had to struggle with vast psychological implications thanks to my early loss! For instance, would we always come to blows like our namesakes; unwittingly reenacting conflicts that didn't concern us? Would we be virtually identical to one another outwardly save for slight differences in attire and massive departures in terms of personality inwardly? Or perhaps we would simply be perfect twins; entirely interchangeable, often forgetting which Lupin brother is which to comedic effect.
That might seem like a strange description of how me and my dead brother would have interacted had he survived, but before you wonder if I'm mad, it is important to note that sitcoms are one of my absolute favorite forms of television. Perhaps they appeal to me because most of the problems the characters face can be brought up and solved in less than thirty minutes. Or perhaps the comfort in knowing that no matter how bad things get for me, I can still sit down on my couch at 7:30, turn on the telly and laugh until I tear up.
I must have watched so many of them with my Mother and Father as a child that I even went about to write some of my own. Rereading some of the scrpits I wrote now, I felt the strong urge to either burn them with fire or submit it to The Restricted Section in the Hogwarts Library to be put alongside forbidden texts such as The Screaming Book of Screaming or Magick Moste Evile. You decide for yourself, this is the finale of the episode I wrote that served as my pilot:
"Those Loopy Lupins!" is filmed in front of a live studio audience, although responses are added when necessary.
*LUPIN HOUSE, INTERIOR.*
*HOPE IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, IN HER SUNDAY BEST. HOPE IS IMPATIENT.*
Hope: Boys, it's time to go to church!
*REMUS WALKS DOWN THE STAIRS WEARING A ZOOT SUIT AND SANDALS.*
*HE TURNS TO THE CAMERA AND WINKS IN A FLIRTATIOUS YET APPROACHABLE FASHION. MILLIONS OF TEENAGE GIRLS AROUND THE WORLD SQUEE AT ONCE.*
*CANNED APPLAUSE AND CHEERING.*
*HOPE OGLES REMUS IN DISBELIEF.*
Hope: Remus, what on earth are you wearing?!
Remus: First of all, this is my personal Sunday best excuse for an outfit.
*CANNED LAUGHTER.*
Romulus: Second of all, I'm not Remus, he is!
*ROMULUS POINTS TO THE DOOR. REMUS ENTERS, ALSO WEARING A ZOOT SUIT. SAME STAGE DIRECTIONS AS ROMULUS' ENTRANCE.*
Remus: Honestly, woman, and you call yourselves our mother!
*MORE CANNED LAUGHTER. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MAILMAN KNOWS WHAT'S COMING NEXT.*
Hope: I'm sorry boys, can you both please change so we can leave for church?
*BOTH ROMULUS AND REMUS RAISE THEIR ARMS COMEDICALLY AND SHOUT IN UNISON;"
Remus and Romulus (IN PERFECT UNISON): Only joking-I'M Remus/Romulus!
*CROWD IS ROARING NOW, RAISING THEIR ARMS AND REPEATING THE LINE IN UNISON. HOPE'S EYES ROLL TO THE BACK OF HER HEAD IN EXASPERATION, PASSES OUT. AWKWARD SILENCE.*
Romulus: Think we went too far that time?
*PAUSE FOR EFFECT.*
Remus: Nah.
*CANNED LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE, FREEZE FRAME. FADE TO BLACK, ROLL CREDITS.*
Uggggghhhhhhh. How could I produce a script that is so unnatural, so inherently evil? And for that matter, how many drugs must I have done during the 1970's when "Personal Sunday Best" seemed like a hilarious and well thought out punchline? The part where me and Romulus pretend to be one another is decent enough, if only I had originally written it myself! Don't remember exactly where the bit came from, but I can assure you it was MUCH funnier originally than my bastardized version.
I suppose this makes me even more peculiar than I was viewed before, since most Half-Bloods I know choose their magical side and stick with it all the way through. Even to the point where even acknowledging their part-Muggle upbringing becomes a painful embarrassment. It is maddening that so many of my own kind consider Muggles to be ignorant children with nothing to offer the Wizarding world, when one only needs to look at the art they created to see the world as I see it.
Whenever my view of the world turns nihilistic and defeatist, it is not merely magical means that give me comfort, it is the things that Muggles created to inspire everyone else as well. While I don't reach Arthur Weasley (good man from a good family, if you ask me) levels of fascination with Muggles since I was raised by one and grew up around them, I still think we tend to underestimate how clever Muggles really are. It even comes to the point where the idea of a Muggle-Born Witch or Wizard being powerful still raises eyebrows to THIS day, in THIS century.
Ah, if only I could take all of the people in the Wizarding world who believe in maintaining tripe like blood purity or Muggle-baiting and each give them a copy of "Abbey Road," maybe then they would finally see that we Witches and Wizards aren't the only people in the world who can claim to create true beauty. Of course, growing up with one foot in the Muggle world and another in the Wizarding World has proven to me that both of my sides are also capable of great ugliness as well. I have had many insults hurled at me. By strangers, my family, my peers, AND my own government, no less. "Half-Breed." "Freak." "Baby-Killer." "Monster." That last one isn't the one that hurts the most, but it certainly seems to be the most popular among my detractors. "But Remus," you must be asking, "That's horrible! Why do people call you a monster?"
Because I am required by law to tell you that I suffer from Lycanthropy. Also known by Father as "Monster's Disease." You wan't me to say it out loud, air my shame out for all to hear? Fine, here it is: I'm a Werewolf. Happy now? Don't worry, it's not contagious when I'm in human form. I merely turn into a half-human, half-wolf creature of darkness with a thirst for human blood every time the moon is full, that's all.
What's that? You don't want to be me around me or your children? Are you sure? With the Wolfsbane Potion, I haven't properly transformed in years, and I would never, EVER harm a child. I should go where? Well, given the things I've done already, I suppose I was going to hell anyway. Go. It's okay, I understand. I am just a Werewolf, after all.
Nothing more.
